


We Must Make a Sense Here to Living

by phnelt



Series: An Allegiance to Bone But Older [2]
Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: Being a lesbian in the 90s, Extremely 90s, F/F, Happy Ending, Long-Distance Relationship, Long-distance co-parenting, Mentions of past major character death (Carol's)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 06:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21031655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phnelt/pseuds/phnelt
Summary: "I’m not just here for the easy stuff, Maria.” She sounded slightly reproachful, which, fair enough.Co-parenting long distance is hard enough without having to pretend one of them is dead.





	We Must Make a Sense Here to Living

**Author's Note:**

> Can be read as a standalone.
> 
> Huge thanks to Laulan for cheering this one on, making it better, and generally being the reason this got finished in any acceptable state.
> 
> Title from Dionne Brand, hard against the soul.

“--you should come up, it’s going to be a huge party, K.D. Lang is going to sing,” Roberta was explaining excitedly over the phone. Roberta had moved to New York in early ‘92 and had really nestled into her niche as a professional lesbian organiser. Well, she actually worked for some up-and-coming music festival but if Maria judged it based on what Roberta talked about, the music thing seemed to come as a distant second to the revolving door lesbian party that was Roberta’s life. Roberta was always trying to get Maria to come out for events and protests and things that were a mix of the two. 

Right now she was trying to get Maria up for the Dyke March. Maria had made it in ‘94, rode her own motorcycle and everything, barely feeling the phantom pressure of a missing Carol at her back--but things were a bit more complicated now. 

Which, speaking of. She unwound her hands from the spiral phone cord and stretched it so she could check the wall calendar next to the fridge. The two squares Roberta was asking about were filled in, careful ballpoint pen scribbles showing that Carol was hoping to swing by that weekend. They were going to take a quick tour of the solar system, maybe check back in with Talos so Monica could hang out with his kid Aptak if they had time. 

They hadn’t been able to go far while Monica was in school, but by then it would be summer break. Still, Maria could never go for as long as she wanted; someone still had to make enough money to keep them in frozen pizza and basic cable. Until they figured out how to turn Carol’s galactic saviour complex into some hard Earth-based currency, Maria needed every client she had. But she didn’t complain. Oh boy did she ever not complain -- occasional weekends with Carol were better than no Carol at all. 

“Yeah, sorry, we’re going camping that weekend.” Camping was their euphemism, a cover that justified Maria and Monica being away from home and out of phone range. 

“Can’t you reschedule?” Roberta pleaded. “You can’t tell me that K.D. Lang doesn’t get you wet. You can’t just stay holed up in that backwater forever.” 

Maria grit her teeth. “I happen to live here, Roberta.” 

“Which is why we need to get you out of there as often as we can.” 

Maria took in a breath about to give Roberta a piece of her mind. “Listen --” 

“Look, just think about it.” Roberta dropped her voice, “I just don’t want you to be alone. Especially...” she trailed off. 

Maria felt a bit of a tug on her heart. As much as Roberta pissed her off sometimes, always assuming she knew what was right and good, Maria knew Roberta cared about her. She called three times a year, like clockwork. Given that Maria forgot garbage day every other month, Roberta was pretty magical. And it was when she called that made the difference. Once for Maria’s birthday, once on Carol and Maria’s anniversary, and once on the anniversary of Carol’s death -- today. 

She’d forgotten. 

It wasn’t so long ago that Maria would know exactly how close or far she was from this day, it would have been beating at the back of her skull. 

Carol hadn’t even been back a full year, Maria still missed Carol like hell but missing her was a gift. It was a decadence that Maria could wallow in when it was convenient and could sometimes distract herself from unlike the omnipresence of the grief that had dogged Maria every day when she thought Carol was dead. 

She wanted to tell Roberta she was okay, better than should be possible, but how could she? To those outside of a select group, Carol was still dead and had to stay that way. 

Maria opened her mouth to say something, she wasn’t sure what, when her other phone started to ring. The scienced up one that only ever got calls from one person. 

“I know.” Maria tried to make her voice warm, not annoyed. Roberta couldn’t help how she was. “I’ve got another call, I’ll talk to you soon, alright?” 

“Alright.” Roberta tried not to sound so disappointed. “Take care.” 

“You too.” 

She clicked the button to pick up the other call. “Hello,” she said. 

“Hey!” Carol’s voice came through, clear as a bell, like she was in the same room instead of across the galaxy. “How’s my favourite lady?” 

Maria smiled. “I’m always doing good.” And it was true. In relative terms. And doubly true whenever Carol called. “Let me get Monica.” She pulled the receiver away from her mouth. “Monica! Carol’s on the phone,” she shouted and heard the thump of Monica feet. “One sec,” she said, after she put the phone back against her mouth. 

She and Monica leaned in against the headset. Monica shouted a little. 

“Aunt Carol! How’s Aptak? Is her shapeshifting getting better? How was your mission?” 

“Good,” Carol said, voice curling around them like a cup of cocoa. Hearing Carol had the same impact on Maria every day. She felt her spine relax, felt herself smile, any lingering annoyance totally cleared away. Carol made her feel like everything would be alright. “I’ll tell you all about it. But first, how’s my favourite girl?” 

Monica went into a high-speed breakdown of the book she was reading -- about space -- what people were talking about at school, and the main character’s motivations in her new favourite show. Maria couldn’t keep track of half of the drama Monica was talking about, and she wasn’t sure how much of it Carol was following, but the rhythm of it was familiar. 

Maria let it wash over her. This was the best part of her day, Carol calling. 

*** 

She’d just stepped inside the house, weighed down with groceries, when the phone rang. 

As always, this triggered a panic to get to the phone in time. It wasn’t Carol, but even though wasn’t, there was something about the shrillness of all the phones coming to life that kicked her heart rate up. She carefully aimed so when she tossed the bags ended up on the counter and lunged at the nearest phone, knocking it off the hanger and just catching it before the receiver crashed to the floor and deafened the person on the other end. 

This better not be a telemarketer. 

“Hello,” she opened. 

“Ms. Rambeau,” an unfamiliar male voice said, “this is Agent Coulson from the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics division.” 

So, worse than a telemarketer, then. “Yes?” She said. Her mother’s hospitality training screamed at her for being so rude; she should ask ‘How can I help you?’ But years in the Air Force had taught her not to give any of these assholes an inch. She wasn’t signing any documents --_again--_ that erased Carol, not after P.E.G.A.S.U.S. Having to lie to everyone about how Carol ‘died’ was pure bullshit, and now double bullshit cause she can’t tell anyone Carol’s back. 

“It has come to our attention that you were not properly debriefed after the events that took place earlier this year. Is there a convenient time an agent could come by?” 

The paranoid part of her wondered if the timing of the call was an accident. Were they watching her? Did they know she’d be home? 

Was she losing it? 

Didn’t really matter -- she knew the only answer to his question. “No.” A complete answer. 

“Pardon?” 

“No, there isn’t a convenient time.” God, these guys pissed her off. 

A pause on the other end. “I understand that you might not want to discuss what occurred, but it is imperative that we go over some of the details.” It sounded like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. 

“Some of the details,” Maria said, unimpressed. Did they mean the secret alien infiltration, or how Earth almost got destroyed? Or maybe how Carol got her superpowers and whether the process could be repeated? She’d heard rumours about experiments to try and make more Captain Americas. 

She was _not_ helping them do that. Hell no. 

There was a poignant silence on the other end of the line. 

“I feel like maybe I started off on the wrong foot.” 

_You think? _Maria thought. 

“Someone will be by this week to talk to you. Please make yourself available on Thursday.” Somehow she wasn’t surprised that he thought this was the _right _foot. 

She was fully pissed off now. Summoning every scrap of Southern iciness she had, she matched his bland tone with a perfectly calm one of her own and said, “I think you will find that I have to agree to talk to you, which I do not do. If you try to disappear me --” she almost said Carol, stopped herself, and corrected to “--_someone_ will notice and raise hell.” She took a breath and all of her summoned propriety left her. She ended up growling into the phone, “And you tell Nick that if he wants to buy my silence, he can fucking come bribe me in person.” 

The sound of shuffling papers over the phone. “I will pass your message on to Director Fury.” Agent Coulson had the gall to sound amused. Also, _Director_ Fury? Was he always a Director? 

She was fuming a bit as she cooked dinner, which meant she was still a little steamed when Carol called. But something held her back from venting to Carol. She couldn’t really say why, except that this was something Maria had to deal with. Carol wasn’t going to be here to fix this for her. Carol couldn’t be here, not all the time. She wasn’t even in the solar system. 

In the morning, when Maria woke up, her bed was cold and empty. When she forgot milk at the grocery store there wasn’t anyone else to pick it up for her. Maria couldn’t take jobs that conflicted with when the school bus came, just in case it threw an axle on the county’s broken down streets and Maria had to step in. She had to talk to shadowy government figures without backup. 

Everything in Maria’s life was built around the principle that she’d have to handle it alone, because she did. 

Talking with Carol calmed her down though. By the time they were watching Star Trek, which Monica loved cause it had a female Captain just like her momma and her Aunt Carol, it was suddenly pretty funny. The way that man had said “I’ll pass on the message,” like maybe it was the highlight of his day. 

It was a little less funny when Nick showed up at her house, an hour after Monica was in bed. She opened the door for him. He didn’t even say hi, only, “Just take the money and sign the damn papers, Maria.” 

She sighed. “I guess you’d better come in.” 

*** 

Nick set a briefcase down on her coffee table, a little off to the right. It was sort of an awkward maneuver, and then she remembered the eye patch. That was new. 

She busied herself in the kitchen, putting on the kettle for some Gold Blend. When she brought it out, he spread papers across the table. There was a distressingly large number of them. 

She passed a cup over and he grabbed it with both hands. She sipped her coffee. He looked at her. 

He sighed. “Have a seat?” 

She side-eyed him a little and said nothing, didn’t move. 

“You knew this was coming. There was no way they’d let you move around freely, knowing what you know, without some assurances. Someone needs to get those, and trust me, you want it to be me.” 

Still without budging, she said, “Why now? I was braced for it right after, but it’s been months.” 

Nick leaned back, brushed his thumb over his eyebrow. “It took a while to agree how to handle this, bit of a squabble among the alphabet soup. We won, so now you get the great joy of talking to me.” 

She wavered a little. Nick had been on their side, seemed like a mostly reasonable guy, and the fact that he had come instead of sending some men in dark sunglasses to menace her was a point in his favour. He must have seen some of that on her face, ‘cause he said, “You’re giving me a crick in my neck. Sit down?” 

She sat. 

“I don’t want to end up in some sort of X-File, Nick.” 

Nick did not react. “Very original. I definitely haven’t heard that one this week.” He sipped his coffee. “You’re lucky Phil isn’t here, nothing sets him off like someone talking about the X-Files.” He shook his head and muttered, “Goddamn show doesn’t get anything right.” 

Maria’s lips twitched. 

The humour drained out of her as she looked at the mess of papers, though. “Alright,” she said levelly, “Walk me through it.” 

He leaned forward. “It’s not as bad as you think.” 

_Let me be the judge of that, _she thought. 

“First of all,” he started, “from the perspective of the Air Force, Carol should never have been labelled KIA since there was no body, and so, returned to Earth, she’s still officially a Captain and a returned POW.” Nick watched the impact these words had on her, then added, “Not a fan of the United States Air Force?” 

Maria shrugged. “They may have managed to piss me off a time or two.” If they were planning on putting Carol back in the Air Force, then Maria was about to start doing a whole lot of asking and telling. Fuck Bill Clinton, that coward. 

Also, since when did she think _‘they’ _instead of ‘_you’_? Nick was part of that whole mess. 

“Then you may be pleased to know that after pointing out that there was no easy way to explain why a woman would have been allowed in combat to get herself captured, especially since we weren’t at war in ‘89, that the Air Force brass agreed it would be more than a little awkward to keep Carol.” _Keep Carol, _like she was a prized possession, and not a person. 

“If you’re trying to win me over, so far it’s not working.” 

Nick smiled. “Fair enough. To cut to the chase, Carol Danvers, a.k.a. Captain Marvel, is now a fully avowed Agent of SHIELD, furnished with a new clean civilian identity, and entitled to pay and benefits according to her position.” He nodded at her, clearly pleased with himself. 

Maria was nonplussed. “You’re forgetting something pretty obvious, here.” 

“You mean, that Carol doesn’t live here?” Nick seemed unphased. “I am aware.” 

Maria wondered if they taught weaponised blandness at SHIELD, since both Nick and that Coulson fellow had it in spades. Probably a side court to criminal understatement. 

He put down his coffee cup and picked up the first carefully stapled set of forms. “SHIELD, unlike our friends at the USAF, is more of the Subaru school of thought. We’ve had domestic partnership benefits for years. There’s two ways to avoid the threat of blackmail, and we took the other one.” Nick looked at her expectantly. 

“What are you asking me?” She knew Nick hadn’t missed the nature of her and Carol’s relationship, but she hadn’t expected... Well. Whatever this was. 

“I’m asking you to sign the standard SHIELD spousal Non-Disclosure Agreement, and then I’m asking you to _take the money.” _

_Spousal. _Maria’s hands were shaking and she gripped her cup harder to hide it. She didn’t know why that hit so hard. 

That was a lie. She knew exactly. All of those comments about her and her ‘friend’ from well-meaning family members, the lesbians played for laughs on _Friends_, and the way the goddamn USAF took Maria’s service and made her shove her life into a shape they preferred. 

They took everything and then they took her life. 

The whole world had belittled and cheapened what they were to each other and Maria hadn’t said anything about it, hadn’t done anything, just tried to survive. And here was Nick Fury with his briefcase and his bribery, asking Maria to lie to the world, but not about that. Not about who she was. Not about Carol. 

She tilted her head at him, wonderingly. 

This went beyond wanting to keep her silent; Nick clearly wanted to keep her happy. She didn’t rightly know why. Nick had been a fun guy when they’d met, over his head just as much as she was, facing down galactic-level threat. But now she got why he was head of a sinister government organisation. He had co-opted her so effectively. This was an offer she couldn’t refuse. 

“Alright,” she said, putting down her coffee. “Where’s the pen?” 

*** 

Two weeks later when she went to the ATM to deposit a check from her last job, she saw her updated balance for the first time. 

She started laughing right there in the middle of the bank. It turned a few heads, but if she didn’t have a reputation as a wild woman yet, now was the time to start. “That sonuvabitch,” she muttered. 

And the deposits kept coming, every two weeks. 

“The question is,” she said to Carol on the phone, “how do I do my taxes?” 

Carol snorted. 

“This is a serious question!” Maria waved her hand around. “I think I look like a drug dealer, Carol. Random money coming in from who knows where.” 

“Call Fury up; he’s probably got some sort of classified accountant who can give you a special form.” 

“Form 81b. Exemption for claiming benefits due to exterrestrial attack on Earth.” Maria was snickering, just a little, quietly. 

“Form 102, income earned somewhere, but we can’t tell you when, how, or who so don’t ask.” The snicker was getting louder and they were both getting in on it, a feedback loop through the receiver. 

They quieted down, and Carol said, “But seriously, there’s probably some sort of tax document they prepare for spouses for this thing, ask him about it.” 

That word again -- this time it just made her warm. 

Carol continued, changing the subject. “Are you still taping those shows for the Skrulls? They’ve worn out the tapes and we might have a mutiny soon if we don’t get more.” While orbiting Earth, they’d apparently gotten hooked on a variety of programs. Maria couldn’t get all of them -- who had even heard of these German variety shows? -- but she was religiously taping what she could. The manager at the local Radio Shack had started calling her whenever they got in a new shipment of VHSes. 

“Mmhm,” she said. “I found out that _The Fast Show_ is on PBS, so we’ve got that set-up.” They really liked British sketch comedy shows, too. Monica’s theory was that they enjoyed watching people take on different personas; Maria just thought they had a weird sense of humour. She found them pretty unintelligible, and she was _from_ this planet, but the Skrulls liked what they liked. 

“Rad, thanks.” A brief pause, and then Carol lowered her voice. “And are you still taping Xena for me?” 

They’d gotten hooked on it while Carol was visiting. Carol said it was just like them: she was the annoying blonde and Maria looked inspiring in leather. 

“Is there some conspiracy around this? Why are you whispering?” 

“Maybe I just don’t want to share,” Carol said, low and intimate, and Maria’s breath caught. 

“What else don’t you want to share?” she asked, tone sly. 

“Well, I was thinking about that one mole you have -- you know the one, and the way it jumps when I --” 

Monica burst into the room. “Mom! Is that Aunt Carol?” 

Maria groaned internally. “Sure is, baby.” 

“Love you,” Carol said. 

“Love you too,” Maria said grimly and then Maria passed over the phone. 

*** 

Maria got used to the rhythm of talking to Carol every day. They were never sure when, but at some point the call would come, and the day ebbed and flowed around it. It wasn’t like having her there, but nothing in the world was like having Carol close by. 

Until one day Carol didn’t call. 

Maria didn’t start worrying until it was getting late and Monica’s eyes were drooping. Maria acted like nothing was wrong, but she couldn’t hide the tightness in her lips, the way she felt coiled to spring every time something in their house creaked. 

Eventually, she sent Monica to bed, promising she’d pass on news to Carol about what happened in the very last episode of Fresh Prince. 

But Carol didn’t call. 

Maria wasn’t sure what to do. She didn’t want to panic, and she especially didn’t want to panic Monica. 

So she did something she wasn’t proud of, and lied. 

“I talked to Carol, baby, and she said she won’t be able to call for a bit, but not to worry.” Maria kept her voice light and hoped that even though Monica was getting smarter every day, she wasn’t getting _this_ smart. 

Monica just looked back at her with crinkled eyebrows and said, “Okay.” And damn if Maria didn’t know that “okay.” That was the _You’re telling me Carol is dead but I don’t believe you “_okay.” It was the “okay” of _sometimes you can’t tell the adults what you’re thinking_. 

There wasn’t anything to do about that “okay” outside of starting a massive argument and revealing herself to be a liar, which she didn’t want to do, and which Monica knew she didn’t want to do, because every child was a champion of sniffing out their parent’s weaknesses and exploiting them to get an extra hour of TV. 

Three days passed before the magical phone rang. Maria ran to it, but paused to breathe and lift the receiver gently, so gently, so she wouldn’t break it -- the only connection she had to Carol. 

“Carol?” she asked, voice shaking. 

“Hey, honey, it’s me.” 

Maria groped behind her until she could pull out a kitchen chair to collapse into. Carol sounded heavy, tired, voice hoarse. 

“You’re okay?” Maria had to ask. Carol was indestructible, and Maria knew that, but she needed to hear her say it. 

Carol paused. “I’m alive.” There was a world of story in those words, all of them saying that Carol was not alright. 

Maria opened her mouth to ask about it, got as far as “What--”, before Carol cut her off. 

“Please,” Carol said. Just, please, nothing else. “Can you talk for a little while. Just, I don’t know, just tell me about the plane and your jobs?” 

So Maria did. She told Carol about the white farmer who threatened to sue her because she did a flight for both him and his neighbour, with whom he had some sort of major generational feud. Using the same service as the man had apparently violated some sort of pact he’d made with his grandpappy before he passed, may he rest in peace, and her failing to disclose that pertinent information made her...something. He wasn’t entirely sure, but it should be illegal, and failing that, he’d like a refund. 

By the end she’d managed to get one real laugh out of Carol. But then Carol said, “I think I need to go, soon,” and Maria couldn’t have that. 

“You have to stay on til Monica gets home, alright?” It wasn’t a question. 

“Right. Yes. I’ll just,” and then there were some muffled rustling noises and the sound of a door swooshing open. 

“What was that?” Maria was curious; normally Carol’s voice was almost eerily isolated. 

“I needed to give someone else a crack at the head.” 

“You were talking to me from the restroom?” Maria tried not to sound affronted. 

“It was the only place I could get--” Carol stopped, said firmly, “It was the only door with a lock.” 

Before Maria could decide if that was worth pushing on or if she should do more distracting, Monica burst in and Maria called her over. 

Before she picked up the phone, Monica gave her the most perfect eyebrow. It could have been taken right off of Carol’s face. It said, ‘See? What did I tell you?’ 

*** 

Maria took the rest of the next day to think about what to do. The last few days, _the gap, _was horrible, and Maria didn’t want to go through it again. 

“Alright so,” she said. “We can’t do that again.” 

Part of Maria wanted Carol just to fall over herself to offer reassurances and apologies. Maria knew it wasn’t Carol’s fault, but it still would have felt nice. 

Instead Carol said, “I can’t really help if I can’t call.” 

“That’s not what I’m--” Maria tried to say, but Carol talked over her. 

“I do my best to call and it’s not always easy--” 

“I’m not criticising you!” Maria took a breath. 

Carol cut herself off. “Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“So.” Now Carol sounded sheepish. “What did you want to say?” 

“I need to know that if something happens,” and God, why was this so hard? Maria felt herself choking up. “_If, _then I need to know I’m going to get a call.” She focused on breathing. “Is that -- can you make that happen for me?” 

Silence for a long moment. 

“I think,” Carol said, and that was her figuring things out voice. “I think I can make that happen.” 

Maria let out her breath in a whoosh. 

*** 

Maria was watching daytime TV and working on folding a month’s worth of clean laundry. She was supposed to have a crop dusting flight today, but a runaway cow had forced a last-minute cancellation. In recent times, that would have meant stress and a long look at the budget book, but now, with her government blood money, she could just sit back and watch someone impersonate their twin sister who was in a coma in order to trick her husband into having an affair. This could be her life every day, if she quit, but her mom had told her to never be dependent on no man, and Maria had decided to count The Man among that number. Still, sometimes a break was nice. Maria felt her brain melting with every plot twist and she loved it. 

Which was, predictably, when the phone rang. 

“Hello,” she said. 

“Mrs. Rambeau?” 

Maria sat up straight. No one called her that. 

“Yes, this is her.” 

“I’m calling from your daughter’s school. There’s been an incident and we need you to come collect her.” 

Maria’s mind ran through all the possibilities, lightning fast. She kept her breathing even. 

“Is she all right?” 

“What?” The woman on the other end sounded distracted. 

“Is she hurt, is she fine?” 

“Oh. Yes, she’s fine, don’t worry. There’s been a disciplinary incident--” The woman said something else, but Maria was more confused than ever. Disciplinary incident? Monica was a terror at home because of her science experiments, but her report cards were filled with “is a delight to have in class.” 

Maria signed off and got into the car, burning rubber. Lucky she was home; she wouldn’t have wanted her mom to get this call. 

She stormed into the school, belatedly realising she was still wearing her Soap Opera laundry day outfit, complete with cut-off shorts, ribbed tank top, and plaid flannel. This look would kill at certain discerning bars, but it wasn’t really what she wanted to project when talking to the school administrators. 

When she hit the office, she saw Monica sitting there, scuffing her sneakers against the floor. Her lip was bleeding and she was dusty all over. Maria rushed over, gently brushing her hands over Monica’s hair, cheek, arms, looking for anywhere else that hurt. 

“Mom, I’m okay.” Monica sounded mulish, but Maria didn’t care. She hummed, but didn’t stop her inspection. “Mom. Mom!” 

If Monica had the energy to be embarrassed by her mother, she had to be okay. Maria backed off a bit and cupped her hands on Monica’s shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re okay, baby.” 

Monica bit her lip and then hissed, clearly forgetting that was going to hurt. And also was going to bleed a bit. Maria reached into her pocket and pulled out a napkin. She could be half-asleep, stranded in a desert, and she’d still have a paper napkin, somewhere -- that’s what twelve years of being a mom meant. She pressed it to Monica’s lip, gently, and Monica grabbed it from her. 

Behind her, a man cleared his voice. 

Time to face whatever music this was, and Maria was prepared to go to war with whoever thought they could use her baby as a punching bag. She stood up, took a breath, got her game face on, and only then did she turn. 

The assistant principal was standing there in his cheap suit and goatee. “Ms. Rambeau,” he said. He had a nice voice, deep, the type suited to singing in church. “I’m Terrence Wilson, vice-principal here. Please come with me.” He gestured in front of him, and Maria went, brushing her fingers against Monica’s shoulder as she passed. 

She settled herself into the chair in front of the desk and waited, blood pounding in her ears. 

He sat himself down. “As you know, this school does not tolerate violence, and every incident will be responded to with disciplinary action.” Maria didn’t like where this was going. She was hoping for a “which is why we’re making sure that no one else will touch your daughter again,” but what she got was, “We expect all parents to reinforce that discipline in their home.” He looked at her over the bridge of his nose, eyes stern. 

She felt like he expected her to say something, so she went with a neutral, “I understand.” 

He sighed, clearly disappointed. “Monica needs to learn that she can’t resolve disagreements physically.” 

Maria couldn’t believe what she was hearing. As in, literally could not believe. She shook her head. “Monica doesn’t get into fights,” she said, incredulous. Parenthood was all about dealing with the unexpected, for instance, having to explain that her science obsessed daughter wasn’t into that whole punching thing, 

Mr. Wilson stood up, came around the desk and perched on the edge. The man had clearly been watching too many after school specials if he thought that was a powerful position to take. 

She repeated herself. “Monica doesn’t fight.” Monica watched Star Trek and built models of the solar system; she cried watching _The Magic Schoolbus, _and LeVar Burton was her personal hero both for what he did in space and for _Reading Rainbow_. 

He looked at her reproachfully. “She did today.” 

Maria looked around, showily. “Where’s the other kid? Why am I the only one getting this talk?” 

“Monica threw the first punch--” 

“But not the last one, or did her lip split itself? Did she throw her own self in the dirt?” 

He pressed his lips together. “Listen, I know being a single mother is tough, especially when it comes to maintaining order, but--” 

“The other kid. What did they say to her?” She set his comment aside, focusing on Monica, but still. _Single mother my ass, _she thought. _I’ll show you what a single mother I am when I get my _wife _to come punch your desk into the sun, how about that. _

Mr. Wilson said nothing. 

This was why Nick had hooked her up with that hush money. Moments like this when she’d need just one more reason not to call down the wrath of Carol on the unsuspecting townfolk and in so doing reveal the existence of aliens. Maria knew she was sitting on the big red button, a story hot enough to blast Bat Boy from the cover of the _Weekly World News_. All that it would take was the wrong person being an asshole in her general direction. 

But Maria wasn’t new to this. She had cut her eye-teeth in the maladjusted testosterone swamp that was the Air Force right after Top Gun came out and suddenly the F-14 was the hottest ride outside of NASCAR. A junior administrator wasn’t going to break her. And she wasn’t going to break his face for insinuating that she didn’t know how to parent her child. 

She clenched her teeth and waited him out. 

Finally, he said, “If you’re not going to cooperate with the school, we’ll have to re-evaluate your daughter’s future here.” 

There it was. The threat. Stay in line, or else. There wasn’t anything Maria could do about it: school policy was clear, and it didn’t matter how much Monica was provoked -- and she had to have been provoked. 

Maria averted her eyes, clenched her teeth and said, “I will, of course, cooperate. What do you need me to do?” 

*** 

Maria kept it together on her way out of the office, but she knew Monica could tell she was angry from the way Monica looked at her with wide, worried eyes. 

Maria didn’t say anything until they got in the car, and then it was Monica who started, saying, “I’m sorry, Momma.” 

Maria, surprised, paused with the key in the ignition. She turned to look at her daughter. “For what?” 

Monica looked at her suspiciously, like this was a test with a trick answer. “For fighting?” 

“I don’t care about that.” Monica just looked at her even more suspiciously, and Maria had to backtrack. “Well, I do care. I mostly care that someone hurt you.” 

“I hit him.” 

“So I heard, you want to tell me why?” Maria kept her voice nonjudgmental, just like all the parenting books said. 

Monica just shrugged and looked out the window. “I got mad.” 

That was all she said, and they drove home in silence. 

*** 

They weren’t ever sure when Carol was going to call, her not living by a regular schedule in space. And they didn’t always have long to talk. There were a few nights in a row where Carol didn’t do more than whisper into the phone that she loved them and was all right and would talk to them soon. She had been pinned down on a moon somewhere, protecting a small band of refugees from a local population that didn’t look so kindly on what they saw as an invasion. Or there were other times when they got cut short, and Maria never got the full story as to why. 

Maria never begrudged her, but it was still a relief when Carol called that night and didn’t need to be anywhere. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Maria admitted in a rush. “She won’t talk to me, she barely ate her shepherd’s pie. Some boy is obviously picking on her and I can’t do anything about it.” Maria’s stomach cramped. She knew the teen years were coming but she was hoping for a little more time. Her arms still remembered the feeling of holding Maria when she was a baby and everything she did felt like it could be the end of the world. Now she felt the opposite. 

Carol listened carefully. “What did the school say?” Maria made a noise, and Carol said, “That bad, huh?” 

“Apparently, as a single mom, I’m not modelling proper discipline.” 

Carol hissed a breath out. “Well, shit. That’s a danger button word, did you mash that guy into a pulp?” Maria barked out a laugh. If she had, she knew Carol would help her hide the body. 

Lightly, Carol said, “You could always move to space with me.” 

She said it off-hand, like it was part of the whole justified homicide plan, but Maria knew she meant it. And Maria was tempted. She wanted to be with Carol more than anything, but even aside from the danger, she couldn’t do it. If Monica was going to have a chance at a life on Earth, she needed a documented history here; she needed to go to school. 

“Carol,” she started, hesitant, but Carol didn’t let her finish. 

“I know.” 

“I--” 

“No. I know. Forget I said anything.” 

Maria wished she knew what to say. Maybe there wasn’t anything to say. One day Monica would graduate, and maybe things would be different then. 

“Can I talk to Monica?” Carol asked. “I could try to trade in some of Aunt Carol’s ‘good cop’ points for some honesty.” 

“Would you?” Maria hated how desperate she sounded. 

“I’m not just here for the easy stuff, Maria.” She sounded slightly reproachful, which, fair enough. Carol had spent her share of time patiently waiting out a tantruming Monica who didn’t understand why she couldn’t use the big cups that Maria and Carol used. 

“I know, I’m sorry, it’s just...been a day.” She felt herself getting choked up. Some days she just felt so alone and she knew it was what she chose and would still choose, but it felt so good to remember that Carol was there for her even though she wasn’t here. 

“It’s fine, I get it. Sometimes, when we’ve been eating reconstituted root vegetable for a week and I find out someone who shall remain nameless has eaten the very last Reese’s Peanut Butter cup I saved for emergencies, I might threaten to throw myself of the airlock.” 

Maria thought about it. 

“Wouldn’t you just--” 

“Be totally fine? Yeah. That’s what I’m saying, I don’t always think clearly when I’m under stress.” 

Maria had started smiling halfway through. “This happen a lot?” 

“More than you’d think,” Carol said darkly. The thing was, Carol was both the most resilient easygoing person who got over things really quickly and the world’s champion at hiding things under a smile. When Maria couldn’t see what Carol was doing with her eyes, if she was twisting her hair, Maria couldn’t tell which one it is. 

So she doesn’t know what to say. 

That’s a two for two at failing to communicate with important women in her life. She just needs her mother to call her up and be disappointed in her for the trifecta. 

It didn’t used to be so hard. At one point Monica was small and could be strapped into a high chair and Carol could use that as leverage to give Maria a chance to take a shower. They had a rhythm and Carol couldn’t twitch an eyebrow without Maria knowing what was up with her. 

“Anyway, get Monica for me?” Carol’s voice broke her out of her melancholy. 

Monica was sulking in her room, but even she wouldn’t pass up a chance to chat with Carol. 

“Hey Trouble,” Carol said cheerfully. 

“Hey Aunt Carol,” Monica said tonelessly. Even her hair was drooping. 

“Sounds like we’ve got some stuff to talk about?” 

Maria saw, with a jolt, that Monica was casting little glances at her and shifting from foot to foot. _She doesn’t want me here, _Maria realized. 

“I’ll just…” Maria mimed walking away. 

“Wait,” Carol said, and Maria paused. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Maria said back. Monica just stared at the floor. 

*** 

Deciding she might as well get back to folding, Maria had set herself back up on the couch, this time watching some NYPD Blue and vowing, like she always did, that either she was never going to let it get this bad again, or she was going to burn half of her clothes. 

That was how Monica found her, a full hour later. 

“Carol still there?” Maria asked. 

Monica shook her head. “She had to go.” 

Maria muted the television and opened her arms. Monica crawled right in, like she used to do when she was little. Maria tried to commit every bit of it to memory, from the smell of Monica’s hair, to the way her body ran hot, like a little furnace. Maybe the day was coming when Monica wouldn’t want this anymore, but until that moment came Maria was going to let her arms do what they wanted to do most and make a perfect space for Monica to slide into. 

Maria kissed the top of her head. “You want to talk about it or you want to watch?” Jeopardy would be good. Jeopardy was always on somewhere. 

Monica snuggled closer. Didn’t say anything for a long moment and Maria waited her out. “Arjay said I was a freak and that’s why I don’t have a dad,” Monica mumbled into Maria’s armpit. 

Maria felt her throat close up. “Baby, that’s not true.” 

“I know,” she said simply, pulling her head out. “And I do have a dad, right? Cause I have Carol, who is way better than his dad ‘cause his dad is in prison and Carol makes me mixtapes of her singing or telling me alien stories, and she read all of the American Girl books so we could talk about them and she never yells at me. Chantelle’s dad is in Michigan and he doesn’t call every day, but Carol does and she’s all the way in space.” 

Maria knew all of that, but she’d never really listed it out before. She blinked back tears, determined to keep it together. “Yeah, baby,” Maria managed. 

Monica could call Carol her dad if it made her feel good; Monica could call her whatever she wanted. “But you can feel any way you want to about your father.” Who was an absolute deadbeat who deserved to rot in hell for missing out on his chance to be a part of Monica’s life. But the point was, _Monica _didn’t have to feel that way about him. 

Monica waved her away, like _duh, mom. _“But I can’t tell Arjay all of that stuff about Carol. I can’t tell anyone. Right?” 

Her voice sounded heavy, way heavier than any twelve year old’s should. She leaned back a little to look at her mom dead in the eyes. 

Maria shook her head. 

Monica pressed her face into Maria’s chest again and it was almost too hard to hear, but Maria could still make it out when she said, “Even if Carol didn’t live in space, even if she lived with us, I couldn’t tell anyone.” Maria felt her chest get damp and realised Monica was crying. It wrenched something in her, intensely, as it always did when Monica cried. She’d move mountains to fix it if she could. 

But she couldn’t. _She’d_ done this, after all, needing to keep the secret had put Monica is a horrible position. It had been one of Monica’s first lessons, not to tell anyone that Maria and Carol kissed, sometimes, or held hands. 

One time, their friend Heather’s daughter had asked Monica what it was like having _two _moms, ‘cause she only had _one _mom, except her mom had asked her if it was ok if her girlfriend Dawn moved in and lived with them -- and mind you, they were five years old. Monica had just repeated, perfectly trained, that she had one mom and Carol was her mom’s roommate. 

Monica wasn’t five anymore. Carol and Maria had made the choice, knowing what they were getting into, but Monica hadn’t gotten a say at all about living in hiding. 

But Monica’s not five anymore; she’s twelve and she’s so smart, smarter than anyone Maria knows. 

Maria would prefer to keep things as they are, she doesn’t see a bonus to broadcasting that she’s a lesbian, but when it comes to things Monica needs, Maria’s comfort doesn’t even figure. Besides, she just watched Monica cry and that made her feel a little wild and reckless. 

“You could tell people, if you wanted. We had that rule because of our jobs, but I don’t work there anymore.” 

It would mean new, different lies, but Maria knew life was just about picking what you could tolerate out of all the indignities the world inflicted. If Monica’s choices were different than hers, she could deal with that. 

Monica just shook her head and tried to breathe, tears coming more heavily. “I hear the things people say. I don’t want them to say them about you and Carol.” And then she dissolved, misery beyond words. 

Maria just held her. 

*** 

Talking to Carol the next day, Maria still felt like her insides had been scooped out with a melon baller. When she had Monica, she knew there would be tough days, but she’d wanted to be the shield between Monica and the world, and it was horrible to know that she could be the source of Monica’s pain instead. 

“It’s not you, it’s that fuckface,” Carol said sourly. 

Maria laughed humourlessly. “You’re going to have to narrow it down, who?” 

“It’s a world full of fuckfaces, and they should all be nicer to you if they want me to punch another asteroid away from this stupid planet,” Carol grumbled. “Speaking of, I turned my ship around; if it’s ok, I figure I’ll swing by and pick you both up? Maybe we can take a couple days, go see Xandar? There’s some sort of multi-day immersive melodrama they’ve been hyping all over the waves, I could get us nice seats.” 

Maria hushed as the implication hit her. Carol had single-handled stopped the invasion of the Earth from a technologically terrifying Galactic Empire; Carol was built for a bigger scale than Maria’s problems. Surely she couldn’t just abandon that ‘cause Monica hit her limit on schoolyard homophobia? 

“Are you sure?” She gripped the receiver, almost afraid of the answer. She wanted to see Carol so much it was almost a physical pain, but she still had to ask. “That won’t stop you from...punching other asteroids? Or whatever?” 

“What’s the point of anything if I can’t be with my best girls when they need a break?” Carol sounded so fierce that Maria rocked back. 

She hadn’t really even taken herself seriously when she’d thought about siccing Carol on Vice-principal Wilson, and she knew Carol had other reasons for protecting this planet, but she also knew that a big part of the reason Carol stuck so close by was for Maria and Monica. It did something glowing to her insides and she felt herself able to stand a little taller, a little bit less like she was turtling against the world to protect the parts of herself that still felt raw. 

Maria’s mom had taught her something about gift horses and mouths, so Maria didn’t ask anything else, just said, “Yes. That would be amazing.” 

*** 

It was Sunday night dinner at her parents’, which Maria actually enjoyed despite it being a wide-open opportunity for her mom to complain about how she never went to church. Maybe that would have annoyed her a few weeks ago, but Maria was fresh off of seeing the rings of Saturn up close, so she was open and appreciating the marvel --_heh_\-- that was the universe. Now she could just focus on how good it was to spend time with her mom and dad, and the food was amazing. Maria had tried, but she’d never managed to blanch collards as good as her mom did. 

She and her mom were just drying up the dishes. Monica had done her part and loaded the dishwasher, and been allowed to run outside to play. Maria could see her from the kitchen window; she was running with a sparkler, waving the sparks through the air like they were fireflies. Maria smiled, watching her. 

When she looked back to grab a glass from her mom to dry, her mom was staring at her, frown creasing her forehead. Maria kept her face blank, but internally she sighed. 

“Baby,” her mom said, always a bad start. There was something strange about being an adult child -- the things that used to be comforting, like being called baby as her mom pressed a cold cloth to her feverish head, meant something different now. “You know your father and I love and support you.” In this case, baby clearly meant, _you’re not a full adult, we’re going to tell you how to make some better choices. _“But don’t you think it’s time you started getting back out there? We love having you and Monica over, but she needs another parent.” 

Maria stiffened up, somehow shocked. She shouldn’t have been. Her parents had always been worried about her being a single mom. She’d been dodging hints for a long time, but with Carol back...she’d forgotten. 

Maria shifted from foot to foot, “I think we’re fine,” she said. She looked out at Monica playing in the grass. “Monica’s happy.” Which was certainly true right now, since she had just gotten a biometrical hologram of her favourite blue-skinned, tentacle-headed opera performer to admire. 

“She needs stability, and you need support. Her mom’s voice was stern. She cleared her throat. “Now, I don’t mean to pry, but Darlene Johnson’s daughter Kim -- you remember her? The dental hygienist? She drank all that Kool-aid at the cookout and threw up everywhere?” Maria remembered; that was more than thirty years ago, poor Kim. “Well, she got divorced a few years back and her mom says she’s ready to get back in the game. You should give her a call.” 

Maria’s fingers slipped a little on the dish in her hands. She had been braced to grit her teeth and try to get her mom to respect her and this was...the opposite. 

They hadn’t talked about this. Not since she told them she was bringing Carol home for Christmas when Monica was young. They sometimes tiptoed around it, and Maria had always called herself lucky to get even that. So many of their friends had parents who had disowned them, who had tried to send them away to get “cured.” Or they were like Carol’s mom, who called up every year, once a year, to tell Carol she was horrible and disgusting and should be ashamed, and Carol just took it in silence and then let Maria hold her later while she cried. 

So Maria had been happy with silence from her parents. 

She never could have expected this. And she didn’t know what to say. 

Maria put down the glass she realised she was now gripping, white-knuckled, and crushed her mom into the biggest hug she could manage. “Thank you,” she whispered into her mom’s ear. She pressed her cheek into her mom’s hair, just feeling it. “I love you.” 

She wouldn’t let her mom go for a long moment feeling the solid weight of her mother against her chest. When they separated, Maria wiped her eyes. 

Her mom just smiled at her, stroked her hair once. 

“So I can set up a date?” 

Maria burst out laughing. 

*** 

She was still laughing when she was on the phone with Carol later, describing the scene to her. 

“Can you believe it?” Maria said, full of hopeful wonder. 

“Yeah, actually, you’re a huge catch.” Carol said it like Monica would say, ‘_well, duh’._

Maria giggled. 

“No, I meant my mom trying to set me up.” 

“She loves you.” Carol was rock-certain about it. 

“No, I know, I just…” Maria wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence. There was a difference between love out-loud and implicit love. When Maria had been wrecked after Carol died, her mom had fed her soup and watched Monica and tended to her, but they had never talked about why she was crying so much all the time. She wondered what it would have been like to be able to say, _the love of my life died and I don’t know who I am anymore. _Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference at all, since nothing else had except for time and safety, and her mom had given her those in spades. 

“Yeah,” Carol said, weighty with just how much Carol got it. When someone understood, they understood; if they didn’t no one could explain it. This was one thing that they both knew intimately. She didn’t need to say anything else and they just sat in the reality of it for a second. 

They couldn’t go back to before the accident, but she had gotten everything she could want now anyway. 

“So,” Carol said brightly, breaking the moment, “What are you going to do about it?” 

Maria was immediately suspicious. “What do you mean?” 

“Are you going to go out with Kim?” 

“Is this some sort of test?” Maria’s suspicion deepened and she felt herself getting annoyed. ‘Cause if it was, she swears to God. 

“Maria,” Carol said gently, and Maria did not like where this was going. “I’m not there.” 

“You --” Maria tried to interject, but Carol kept talking. 

“I’m not there_, _your mom wants you to have a girlfriend, every week you tell me there’s a new lesbian out there, and you’re not in the Air Force -- and yes, I agree that Bill Clinton sounds like a huge jerk.” Carol’s voice was perfectly even and calm, like nothing she said was that big a deal, like she wasn’t ripping at Maria with every word. It didn’t matter that Maria had thought some of this before, that she had to live her life like Carol wasn’t there, but that didn’t mean she wanted to have this conversation. This conversation could stay on the dark side of the moon forever. Her suspicion has changed to a creeping dread, she felt like they were on the cusp of saying things that couldn’t be unheard. 

“My point is, you have a chance here to be totally honest.” 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Maria hissed. She wasn’t sure where to begin with Carol. She was so mad sparkles were going off behind her eyes. “You don’t get to tell me what I want. I’m not breaking up with you, _over the phone, _for the chance to take some other woman to Michfest. You promised me,” she forced a swallow, throat suddenly tight, “that we’d make so many more memories together.” 

And weren’t they doing that? They’d just been together. She knew it wasn’t easy for Carol--she’d gotten a few angry beeps on her wrist, and when she came from talking to whoever her face had been troubled. 

If Carol didn’t want that, then why bring her out at all? 

Carol was silent for a long moment. 

“The Kree aren’t monogamous. We wouldn’t have to --” 

Maria slammed the receiver down. 

Immediately, she regretted it. Their phone line only went one way, so she couldn’t call back. And Carol wasn’t going to call back either, which was Maria’s own damn fault. _Sometimes I need space, _Maria had said, _don’t chase me. _She’d trained her back when they lived in each other’s pockets, with shared work, home, and friends. 

Now, she’s got nothing but space. She wished Carol were here. 

Mostly so she could yell at her, but. 

She realised she was still staring at the phone and decided to cut that shit out. She went into the living room where Monica was watching the Simpsons. 

Monica beamed at her. “So mom, can I?” 

“I don’t know, Monica, can you?” 

In a testament to her excitement, she didn’t even roll her eyes. “Moooom, Aunt Carol said she’d ask you if I could skip school if she can make it back in time for my birthday!” Her smile fell a little. “Did she change her mind?” 

This was what Maria didn’t understand. Carol acted like she didn’t care what Maria did, but then she twisted herself around for Monica. Last time she came, for Christmas, she’d come straight from that mission where she’d been pinned down on a moon. Maria had told her to take a break if she needed it, not to put herself at risk, but she showed up anyway, beyond exhausted. She’d slept for most of four days, but she’d been there, with presents, and the tiniest wan smile. 

So she didn’t understand where Carol got off, pretending like she wasn’t invested in them. Carol acted blase but all of her actions screamed how much she did care. Maria felt some of her feathers go down and went over to smooth back Monica’s hair. If actions spoke louder than words than Carol’s screamed loud enough to drown out the ache her words had left. 

“No, baby, she wouldn’t change her mind.” Maria had to believe that. “If she’s back, you can miss some school.” 

Monica bounced with excitement. “Maybe we can go back to Xandar and I can see the diva again!” 

Maria pulled up a smile somehow. “Sure, if you want.” 

*** 

When Carol called the next day, Maria was ready. She let Monica have her private girl’s time with Carol first, in case this went wrong, and then she opened with, “So you want to try that again?” 

Carol was sheepish. “I’m sorry.” 

Maria let out a breath and reminded herself that she was not going to lose her temper, no matter what. “Sorry for what?” 

Carol paused. Maybe she hadn’t been expecting that. “For telling you how to live your life?” 

Maria gripped the phone. Carol was so clueless--some things never changed. Bless her heart, but she had the introspection skills of a cat trying to get at a bird through the window. Keeping her voice even through sheer force of will, she asked, “Why did you call today? Why do you call every day?” 

Silence. 

She pressed, asking quietly, “Why did you make that promise?” And she waited, an opening for Carol to take if she wanted. 

“I love you,” Carol said, voice thick, like it was all the answer and explanation she needed. 

“Yeah,” Maria said, leaving off the _idiot, _which was pretty clearly implied. “I love _you, _I want all that shared life stuff with _you. _People aren’t swappable, like engine parts. Even if I had a thousand Kims to ride with for Dykes on Bikes or take to family picnics, I’d still wish you were there with me.” She realised her voice was getting a little loud there, at the end, tried to gentle her grip on the phone. They really didn’t make receivers like they used to; if she’d had this conversation on their new cordless phone she’d have crushed it mid-way through the word ‘love.’ 

Carol made a croaking noise, cleared her throat and said, “Okay.” 

Maria closed her eyes. She wished Carol was here so she could see what expression she was making, so she’d know if she was getting through to her. Mostly she just wanted to put her hand on Carol’s cheek, smooth out the lines on her temple, the way Maria knew Carol got them from tensing too hard. 

“And I think you knew that.” Another damning silence on the other end. “So you wanna tell me what you were actually thinking about yesterday?” 

“I’m just missing so much.” _Ah, _Maria thought. “Like when Monica was having a hard time at school, I couldn’t do anything about it. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll always back you, but I don’t get to help you out in the moment; I don’t get a say. I want to be part of your life, but I feel like I’m just a visitor who shows up sometimes and disrupt everything and then fly off.” 

Maria closed her eyes against the way they were burning. She’d had no idea Carol felt this way, but she could hear way Carol was trying to force these words out, one after the other, a strain that had to have built up over time. “I can’t fix that for me, but maybe I could give you some of that, someone who could be a part of building your life, not breaking it.” She could hear Carol’s breathing, loud and uneven. Then, a hard left turn: “You deserve to be able to tell your parents.” 

God, Maria had been blind. She brought her other hand up and started rubbing her sternum like she could smooth the ache away, but she couldn’t undo this so easily. Maria hadn’t known Carol felt like a burden. Carol was always so optimistic and she never gave up. But that was the mask, which Maria _knew_, and she should have recognised what was going on. Maria knew she’d contributed to that. She had been thinking of Carol’s visits like vacations; they were breaks from life, not a part of it, and they had to be worked around and scheduled for least disruption. 

Some of the difference was unavoidable. Carol couldn’t help her out with the PTA, for example. But parenting wasn’t just the day-to-day logistics; Maria didn’t ask Carol for her opinion on things like whether Monica should go to summer camp, or if she should skip a grade, or on how Maria could diversify her business now she had some capital. And she didn’t ask her for help with any of those things, either. Maria had been happy enough to take Carol’s intercession with Monica after the fight, but not enough to let her have a say on what to do next. Carol tried to offer help sometimes, when she knew there was a problem, when Maria kept her in the loop, but then Maria decided what she wanted, anyway. 

Carol was right to feel left out, to feel tacked on, Maria realised with regret. In some ways she was on the outside, looking in. Maria had been so proud, when Carol came back, to show her the life she’d built, but she’d ended up using that as a wall to put between them, rather than a bridge, and now she’d ended up in a situation she didn’t want at all. Maria wanted what she couldn’t have -- what she used to have, she wanted it so badly she could taste it, but what had she done to get it? Worse than nothing, and now she was in danger of losing Carol, again. It made her stomach hurt. 

And in some sort of Carol fashion, instead of saying that _Carol _wanted to feel more included, she had said _Maria _should find someone easier to include. It felt like Maria’s hand, pressed flat against her stomach, was the only thing keeping her guts from spilling out, messy, all over the floor, trying to purge every ugly moment of isolation. Maybe then she’d have space to bring Carol in. 

She blinked back some tears. If that wasn’t one of the most bone-headed, pig-ass things she’d ever heard. And they were such a set, her and Carol, because it just made Maria want to dig in her heels and pull until she had Carol pressed right up against her, where she belonged. 

“I don’t accept that.” She heard Carol take in a sharp breath. “I deserve to have you. And _I’m _the one who hasn’t done a good job of showing you just how much we fit together.” 

“I think I know how much we--” Maria cut her off; she had things to say. 

“You know what Monica told me after she got into that fight?” Maria didn’t wait for an answer. “She told me that you’re a way better dad than most of the kids in her class have.” Carol let out a laugh that was more liquid than air. “We’re not the first people in the world to do this, you know. Don’t you dare make a joke about space,” she added quickly. She heard the click of Carol’s jaw snapping closed and smiled. a little, helplessly. Carol was so predictable. 

“They deploy women now,” she went on, “and you know that would have been you, and we would have been here anyway. Lots of couples have been here before us. And I’m ready to figure out how to do it right. We’re the real thing, baby.” Carol used to say that to her, late at night, stumbling back from the bar, arm thrown casually around Maria. She’d press her mouth right up to Maria’s ear and whisper it, just loud enough to be heard over the clink of the buckles on her leather jacket. 

Maria could hear that Carol was openly crying now. The only other person that could make Carol cry was her mother, and Maria didn’t know how to feel about being in that company, but she had to hope this was for a good reason. 

“I think maybe --” Maria chewed her lip a little trying to figure out what she wanted to say. “I know I need to do -- and am going to do -- a better job of letting you in, but when I do I need to feel like I’m not being a burden. I know you belong to a lot of people, that a lot of people are relying on you. I know you carry a lot. I don’t want to be piling on.” 

“Maria,” Carol said, hushed. 

“Don’t just say something romantic, I don’t think I can take it right now.” Maria was also starting to choke up. Her heart had migrated up into her throat and it was making it hard to breathe. 

Carol paused for a second, then urged,“Please don’t feel like that.” The words came out in a rush like they were a secret. “Our relationship is the only thing I have that’s truly mine and I’m deeply selfish about it. I want everything I can get from you. The Kree have a saying,” she paused for a second, “okay, it doesn’t really translate but it’s basically a take it to the max, ride into the danger zone, suck all the juice out of it type of thing. That’s how I feel about you.” 

Her voice got a little high-pitched like she was embarrassed. “And like, no pressure, but some days I feel like talking to you is the only thing that keeps from spinning off into space, untethered. If you’re worried about distracting me, don’t. You’re the reason I keep fighting.” 

_No pressure, _Maria thought, and almost giggled. 

“Before I’m Captain Marvel,” and Maria could almost hear the derision around the name, “I’m...your wife. If you’ll have me,” she added quickly. 

Maria’s heart swelled til it hurt and her smile split her face. She was so in love with this woman -- as in, it made her stupid with it, giddy, punch-drunk. 

“Always,” she said, simply, feeling the love reverberate between them. 

“That’s...good,” Carol said, and Maria heard the smile. They were clearly in the same boat. The pair they made. Maria thought that often, but this time, it was an unalloyed good. 

And she could do more than leave Carol with the potential of better times--she could show her some proof of intent. 

“Hey Carol,” she started, faux casual, still a little giddy, “What do you think we should do about Monica’s school situation?” 

Carol paused for a second, clearly confused. Cautiously, she said, “It’s really your decision. You know the facts.” The happiness from before wasn’t gone, but it was still a little tempered. It brought Maria down a little; she hadn’t given Carol any reason to feel like her thoughts were welcome before this. It sucked that the fix wasn’t immediate, but Maria could be patient. Well, Maria corrected, she could be more patient than Carol. 

“You know them pretty well,” _maybe even better than I do, _Maria thought. She still didn’t know what Monica had said to Carol. “What do you think? I’m honestly asking.” 

“Well,” Carol said, drawing the word out, still disoriented, “I think -- you’ve got the money -- you could send her to private school, get her in some advanced classes, in a place with shinier toys for her to play with.” 

_Private school. _Maria hadn’t even thought about that. Private school was for rich white people. Neutrally, she said, “How much do you think Fury is paying me?” 

“I know whatever it is, you’re saving all of it,” Carol shot back, so maybe timidity time was over. Maria didn’t say anything, thinking it over. Carol was dead right about the money. 

Carol read the silence wrong, ‘cause she said, “It’s stupid. I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

“No, you’re right. It might have its own problems, but it’s worth thinking about.” Maria heard Carol inhale sharply. Which spoke to what she was thinking. “And this is the conversation we should have had at the time. We should have been talking like this all the time.” 

“And what happens when we disagree?” Carol’s voice was judgment free, but Maria winced. Carol was pig-stubborn, but Maria could outpull her most days, ready and willing to dig in over everything. 

“Rock, paper, scissors?” Maria got serious again, and added, “I promise I’ll try. You can call me out, ok?” 

“Okay,” Carol said, and Maria could hear the smile in her voice. “But what about the other stuff that I can’t give you up here? What about the cook-outs?” 

“You know, even if we didn’t have to pretend that you’re dead, even if you could just come live here, it wouldn’t fix those problems. At least no one cares that we’re lesbians in space.” 

She pushed all the feeling through her voice, into the phone. Hoped Carol picked it up. She wanted Carol to know that she didn’t just give stuff up to be with Carol -- she gained so much. Sure, it was hard, and maybe it was impossible to make Carol feel like part of _everything_, but Maria was never going to give up on it. When she said she’d try, she meant she’d do whatever it took. She’d take weekends and summers with Carol over anyone else full-time. 

They let that one sit for a minute, just breathing, but Maria knew she’d gotten through. 

She doubly knew it when Carol’s voice came through, slightly pensive but also clearly teasing, “I guess I can admit that maybe even if I had showed up to yell at that vice-principal, it wouldn’t have helped very much.” 

“Is that still bothering you?” 

“Yes! He was mean to you.” Carol pouted, slightly. 

“Then it’s good you’re remembering that maybe it would cause more problems than it would fix if my long-dead lesbian lover dropped in to give a middle adminsitrator a stern talking to.” And it was sweet that Carol wanted Maria to have social acceptability, but there was a lot stacked against her there. “Also, maybe slipped your notice, but you’re white, and some people frown on that just as much as us being two women.” 

“Huh.” 

“Don’t tell me you forgot.” 

Carol sounded defensive. “I deal so much with space racism I forgot about Earth racism. Could happen to anyone!” Maria was pretty sure _she_ wouldn’t have forgotten about Earth racism, but then again, she didn’t spend most of her time with shapeshifting aliens. 

“You can’t just put ‘space’ on the beginning of anything you want to say as an excuse.” Her words said no, but her absolute feeling of indulgence said: _yes, you can do whatever you want and you are just as charming as you think. _Which was absolutely true, Maria just tried to keep that on the down-low most of the time. But this wasn’t most times and Maria wanted Carol to feel just as good as she possibly could. 

“Pretty sure I can.” Carol had her serious ‘Captain Marvel’ voice on. “Space laser, space travel, space lesbians.” 

Maria was laughing now. “You know what? I think I like being a space lesbian.” 

Carol’s voice sounded wondering: “You do?” 

“Mm-hm. I think I like the person I get to go to space with even more,” Maria grinned as Carol groaned. 

“Okay, fine! I give up! You win.” Those were words sweet as honey. 

“What do I win?” There was a correct answer to this, she was hoping Carol knew it. 

“Me?” 

“Damn right.” And she wasn’t going to ever let Carol forget it. 

**Author's Note:**

> I continue to be frustrated about nothing happened in the 90s when I thought it did. I had a really killer joke about Furbies that didn't make it because they weren't invented yet! 
> 
> I promise the next one will have Carol and Maria in the same place.


End file.
